Thursday, September 17, 2009

Into the Deep End

Think of it. All those thousands of posts under dozens of screennames. Usenet and L-ists, message boards and forums, e-mails and other people's blogs and tweets. All the time surfing and posting for free when I used to be writing professionally, sometimes for money. (But hey, some markets were drying up anyway. Lots of markets.)

And now finally, this. A place of my own. (Not counting a couple of simple practice websites.)

And yet, still hesitant? Yes I am. No, it's not like I have a big following. Here or anywhere. It's not like they're clamoring for this. Yet. (Actually, I just like to use the word clamoring.)

So why so concerned over what few words I toss into the ether? Because of that word - Yet. With that smidgen of ego that remains, despite all the downtimes there have been, one elfin corner of my brain whispers, "You still could be famous, sometime, still might have people hunting down this 'early' work someday. And what will THEY think?"

(And well again, OK, my real "early work" was typewritten, I shit you not. Let me tell you about correction tape, kiddies. Or having to retype the whole goddamn page. And then that screws up the next one. And on and on.

THAT early work that resides still in boxes at my mother's home. [And how hard is it, five months after he's gone, to not call it my mom and dad's house.] Or more recent boxes in the other room, waiting for a move.)

At any rate, that thought - the fear not that I won't be read, but that I will, brings out the inner Editor, or maybe just the part of me that will always be the shy teenager/ young adult. The one who doesn't want to do anything because it might be wrong, it might not be Perfect, it might be - whatever. The one who was so consumed by these fears she flipped from full-time musician and part-time writer to vice-versa, thanks to Stage Fright.

Yep, I was self-conscious about even starting this damn little blog.

Then why all the babbling above? Because while I was heating up the eggroll and wondering/ worrying what great words to pronounce (Fourscore and seven years ago, It was the best of times and the worst of times, and In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth all having been taken already) I remembered for the millionth time the simple rule I've sometimes obeyed, more often ignored at my peril: Just effin' do it.

Stop thinking and start writing. Stop tuning and start playing. Stop the warmup and start the competition.

Stream of consciousness, grocery list, a letter to your high school crush that you'll never send. Whatever gets you going, just start writing.

And before I knew it, Future Reader who is researching the more obscure works of Amy Parrent - here was my first blog entry. Here.

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